


So You Burn (originally entitled, "Strip and Burn")

by iliveinfantasies



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, Book/Movie 2: Catching Fire, Catching Fire, F/F, Hunger Games, Joniss - Freeform, Quarter Quell, elevator scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:56:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johanna Mason is a bad-ass bitch, and certainly not the sort to dwell on something as stupid as the face Katniss made in the elevator. Or maybe Johanna's self-loathing has something else to say about that.</p><p>Takes place during Catching Fire, just after the elevator scene. It's my take on what Johanna feels after stripping in the elevator. Might turn into a longer work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So You Burn (originally entitled, "Strip and Burn")

**Author's Note:**

> Again, takes place during Catching Fire, the elevator scene.
> 
> Warnings: swearing, because Johanna. Lots of swearing. Might turn into a longer piece.
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think, if you are so inclined!
> 
> ALSO, for those waiting for chapter 2 of "I'm Johanna," I am working on it!

“Thanks. Let’s do it again sometime.”

You exit the elevator _with purpose_ , feel the door whoosh shut behind you, your fake-of-course-its-fake-everythings-fucking-fake-in-the-capitol hair brush lightly against your back. It feels like Capitol plastic, all synthetic-fibers and freshly-grown-fear, and it’s making your whole body tingle in a way that makes you want to throw the hair into the ceiling fan. You slow the tread of your bare feet against coarse carpet and close your eyes for a moment, and chuckling very lightly. Self-satisfaction ebbs slowly throughout your whole body as you recall the look you just left in the elevator, the _whattheactualfuck_ look that overcame Katniss’ face when you took your clothes off ( _imeanthatsnodifferentthanusualRIGHTgirlno)_ , and the tiny tingles turn into full-on jolts in your belly as the red-of-her-cheeks registers behind your eyelids–

_Fucking STOP, Johanna. The FUCK._

You open your eyes and narrow your eyelids, somewhere between really-fucking-irritated and actually livid, and it’s making your throat hurt. You draw air quickly through your teeth and choke just a little, not realizing you’re gritting your teeth. You feel a jolt of pain pierce your side, forgetting again about the poorly-healed-breaks-in-your-once-cracked ribs( _ohgodohgodpleasedontnotagain) –inhale–_ and how much it hurts to breathe deeply. 

But you could give less of a fuck about that right now.

Exhaustion overcomes you now, all the self-satisfied splendor leaving your body in a _whoosh (like a bellows like–)_ and you slump against the wall. Your skin itches again, and you shift slightly, absolutely fucking loathing the way the ugly hallway wallpaper feels rubbing against your bare back, but you really can’t motivate yourself enough to move. You press your face into your hands and realize you’re shaking, just a little, full of a fire-fury you didn’t even realize you were capable of anymore. 

_It always was ironic, really, feeling fire-fury as a wooden girl. But then, you always knew you were meant to self destruct someday, burn yourself to oblivion._

You narrow your eyes and grit your teeth harder, move your lips justalittle, shape-shifting them from grimace-to-snarl. You bite deep into the just-chapped skin of your painted lips, reveling in the feeling of sharp-bone cutting into fleshy skin. Here you are, naked, pressed against the wall in the middle of the hallway on the seventh floor of the Tribute building, and all you can think of is Katniss- _fucking_ -Everdeen, and the color of her cheeks.

You don’t even understand it. She’s the most pathetic fucking thing you’ve ever seen in your life, all prettyface to Peeta’s prettywords, stumbling over sentences, choking on clauses and trying to smile!pretty for the cameras like the rest of the _ohsofuckingdeadheyheyanotherfucktonight_ dead-eyed tribute Winners! She’s the worst goddamn actor you’ve ever seen. She’s self-centered in too many ways and self-righteous in others and so utterly fucking _brainless_ , and you can tell can (see it in her face whenever she peeks out Capitol windows to the not-world you live in) that she’s been fucking _numb_ to life since childhood.

Except she _isn’t_ pretty, not to you.

She’s beyond fucking _lovely._

And you really fucking hate it.

Because of all the filling-un-fucking-fulfilling parts of your miserable _fucking_ life, it’s _her,_ this _little lost puppy child_ who has made you the warmest you’ve been in fucking _years._ Maybe your whole goddamn miserable life.

And she doesn’t even know, doesn’t even fucking realize. She’ll never be able to see, and if you have anything to say about it, will never spend enough time with you in the arena to figure it out ( _Not that she could the girl is as bright as a bag of nails but who are you fucking kidding you wont actually be able to stay away.)_

Except.

Except.

No matter how much she loathes it, what a miserable fucking excuse for a rebellion figurehead the girl is. 

She’ll always start the slow burn in most fucking wonderfulfuckingpainful way you’ve ever felt; always ignite your body, cause your blood to fucking boil in your veins your chest the lights behind your eyes. 

Because maybe you’re Johanna _fucking_ Mason, and you might be made of wood-beyond-petrified-into-stone,

But she’s the girl on fucking _fire._

_And she’ll always make you burn._


End file.
